


Queen of Chemistry

by tssgry



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romance, ok maybe attempt at humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tssgry/pseuds/tssgry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stomped on my presidency pen, had me tutor him, and then made me fall in love with him and his never-present smile. It was nothing short of amazing. AU/ultra-lovable high-school fic ft. Felicity's lipstick</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Chapter 1:**

"Miss Smoak? Would you mind staying after for a second?"

That depends, did I want to be slightly late for English?

Of course. A couple of extra minutes with Mr. Berty definitely beat rehashing old, British lit with the lackluster AP teacher, Mrs. Jenkins. Legend says-well, not technically legend-her husband is mute. She's just been talking to herself for years. I could definitely relate in that aspect.

I pile up my books and smiled to the rest of my classmates that hustled out the door. You know the saddest part? Not a single one of them did the signature "oooh" that graced nearly every high school film post-1980s. It's like they knew that Mr. Berty wasn't going to chastise me and had absolutely no concern for my well-being. I mean, yes, chances are, Mr. Berty was going to compliment me on my lab today, but a little bit of unease would be nice. Come to think of it, my lab results were rather thorough. I also incorporated my own, totally unnecessary chart that mapped out each of the effects on the bacteria from the subjects he gave us. This was all while Helena Bertinelli sat beside me, painting her nails purple.

Mr. Berty smiles, scraggly and old. "Your work today was phenomenal, per usual. I especially loved your conclusions. I've dabbled with that particular bacteria, and let me tell you, the hydrochloric acid..." he pushes his glasses up and grins. "It's positively incredible."

I nod excitedly. "I can't wait to try it. I've got a bit of hydrochloric at home. Do you think I could steal a petri dish?"

"Of course," he says eagerly. "Would you mind emailing me your thoughts? I don't think there's a teacher in this building that has tried it before and I'd love to discuss it-"

"Most definitely."

"Good."

Assuming that's the end of the conversation, I start to walk toward the door. "Miss Smoak?"

I twirl around and raise an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He looks fidgety.

It's so odd to be on the receiving end of that. Usually,  _I_ am fidgety. Not even fidgety, really. Just nervous sometimes.

But honestly? I'm probably the person that you should be the least nervous of. My boring ponytail was not the least bit intimidating. My thick framed glasses screamed painful innocence; not hardcore in the slightest. There was some bad-assery in my industrial piercing, I have to admit. I deserve to give myself my P's and Q's for that. But if I'm being one hundred percent honest with myself, the bad-assery is kind of overshadowed by the fact that I was holding on to one of my best friend's hands the entire time.

But he's fidgety, and it's not fake. "I think you're one of the most tenacious, intelligent students in this school. Definitely the most intelligent that I've ever had the pleasure of teaching."

My heart warms. "Thank you, Mr. Berty. That means a lot."

"And I know," he continues, "That students should aspire to be on your level."

I stand a little taller, soaking in his compliments until I'm properly pruned. "...they should have your maturity level, they should at least have the decency to show up to class..."

He spits out the last part with a scowl on his face. When he sees my concern, totally warranted by the way, he backtracks.

"Yes, they should have everything that you have. I truly see you as the ideal student. That's why I believe that you should be utilizing those strengths to help your classmates."

I grimace. "Right. If this is about Helena, she really does understand what she's doing as my lab partner. Unfortunately, I can't force her to participate. We're making nail polish for our end of the year project, I know she'll contribute."

"I'm not speaking about Miss Bertinelli."

My eyebrows furrow and I stare blankly at him. Should I be worried? Probably not, I had a fairly good rapport with everyone at this school. Well, except Ray Palmer...

I kept to myself for the most part. I didn't like to burn bridges so I played it safe. The only two people I spoke to regularly were my two best friends, Laurel and Sara.

The next time Berty opens his mouth to speak, he looks like being around me is the last place he wants to be. "Do you know Oliver Queen?"

I freeze.

Do I know Oliver Queen? Do I  _know_  Oliver Queen? Does anyone actually know Oliver Queen? I know  _of_ him. Just barely.

Maybe I should've added him to my list of people who don't like me because Oliver Queen, without a doubt, hates me. Passionately, almost.

Let's go back, say, five years. I was in eighth grade, and I hadn't gotten my industrial piercing yet so there was absolutely nothing fearful about me except, perhaps, my chest that had yet to develop to the stage of ninety percent of the females in my class.

I was standing in the auditorium after having given my speech because I was running for president that year. My mother, bless her eccentric soul, had bought these little buttons:

_**VOTE SMOAK, SHE'S YOUR ONLY HOPE.** _

I really did applaud the usage of my mother's appear to fear fallacy. Especially since I was up against Caitlin Snow, who won the presidency the year before. I thought the buttons were cute, and my class ate the adorableness up.

Having never spoken a single word to Oliver Queen in my entire fourteen years of life, I handed him a button and I smiled.

Do you know what he did? He looked at it, smiled (I was shocked, too) and dropped it on the ground. Then he stepped on it. Thankfully, no one else followed in his immature fashion and they all kept the buttons and I won.

No one laughed, either. Except him and his hyenas.

Oh yeah, the hyenas. Idiots. That'd be Tommy Merlyn and Floyd Lawton. They just laugh all the time. It's so pathetic and it makes me self-conscious. Why? Because it happens whenever I'm walking down the hallway. I don't even make eye contact with them, so I'm not sure if they're laughing at me specifically, but it feels like it. I know they aren't laughing at Oliver. How do I know this? Because Oliver Queen is not funny. He is mean, and impassive, and failing Chemistry. Funny is not an attribute I'd assign to him or his leather jacket.

"No way," I spit out. "Absolutely not. If he's not getting Chemistry, that's not my fault. He's not even in my class!"

Mr. Berty nods sympathetically. "I know that. I know. And you can say 'no,' but you should think about it."

I let out a gust of air. "Thought about it. No."

"Very well then," he says, sighing. "I'll let him know."

"Who know?"

He smiles slightly. "Mr. Queen. He needed a tutor and he requested you."

* * *

I wonder how many cavities Laurel has. She rips open the top to yet another lollipop and shoves it in her mouth.

"Why were you late to English? Mrs. Jenkins was murmuring to herself the entire time so it was basically a free period." That much sugar is not healthy. Even if her saliva destroys it at an alarming rate, think of all the crevices in the average structure of a human's oral capacity...

Pulling myself away from my thoughts, I frown. "That wouldn't have been a very productive class period."

"Oh, come on. Anyway, what was it? Did Mr. Berty confess to his naughty dreams of you and his lab table?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me and grins.

I pause, staring at myself in my locker mirror. "First of all, ew. Second of all, how did you become so crass that you don't even recognize how absolutely disgusting half of the things you say are? Third, Oliver Queen."

Her eyes perk up at that. "Oliver Queen, what?"

"Mr. Berty wanted me to tutor him. I said no. Obviously." I twist the bottom of my lipstick until it's peeking out from the tube. It wasn't my original color for today, but it'll do.

"You said no?" Laurel says, removing her lollipop from her mouth. Clearly, that meant business.

"I said no twice, actually. I don't really want to talk about it. Where's Sara?" Laurel shrugs and folds her arms across her chest.

"I don't know, she's probably slutting up the school."

"Hey!"

"I saw her and some freshman chick head toward a janitor's closet. I'm very privy to my sister's sex life, unfortunately." I cringe and shake my head. Mid-shake, I notice a glob of leather to my right and inhale the undeniable stench of cigarettes.

They reminded me of every cliche bad boy that has ever been written about, but they each pulled it off. Honestly, I don't know how it happened. Floyd Lawton was, well, Floyd Lawton. I think everyone knew where he was headed since the day he tried to stick Carrie Cutter's finger in a pencil sharpener in the fourth grade. She's never really been the same since. He's really scary, but really cute. Kind of fits the mold for them all. He came from this nasty part of town, but he lives with Tommy now which really only means trouble.

Tommy Merlyn is a different story. He was a fairly nice kid for a long time. A little mischievous, yes, but nothing too crazy. Anyway, his mom died when he was young and his dad kind of flew off the the handle. He was in foster care for a year and then came back a changed man. Ish. The courts deemed him suitable to care for himself and now he lived on his own in a shady apartment somewhere in the Glades.

No one really knows about Oliver. He was just quiet. Not mischievous, not scary, not even really charming. He just didn't talk. For some reason, that made him incredibly attractive.

Not to me, of course.

But women flanked him all the time. He wasn't exactly complaining, but he never really seemed interested either. His father owns a company and he has a little sister in junior high. His mother was the total PTA type. Other than that, he was a mystery.

I spare them a glance and immediately regret it. His Hyena's look at me.

Jesus Christ.

Wait for it...wait for it...

There.

They're snickering.

They've begun their descent. "Can I ever catch a fucking break...?" I mutter to myself, rolling my nails along the side of my locker.

"Whoa, F bomb," Laurel laughs before she spots the group of guys. Then she lets out a loud sigh. Leaning a long leg against the lockers she tosses her head back like she's being tortured. Her shiny, brunette curls fell over her shoulder as she moved, her signature feature.

"God, Tommy is so hot. I would climb him like a tree."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Have some tact. And stop looking over there!"

"Why? Also, you do realize that my twin sister is probably the biggest lesbian in the state, right? That means that I absorbed any part of her that likes boys."

"No," I shake my head, "That's not what that means at all."

The snickering gets louder. In my head, I have it planned out that I will stomp over there and demand them to stop laughing, or at least ask them to share what is so funny about me. Do you know how emotionally taxing their laughter is? Do I have toilet tissue on my shoe? I mean, I don't even use public restrooms, but still?

Laurel lays a kiss on my cheek and smiles. "I'll see you after school, okay?"

Um, no. "Where are you going?"

She looks at me and tilts her head to the side. "Are you turning red?"

Yes. "No. Where are you going?" I ask her again.

"Detention. And I can't be late. That's how I got it after all." She twirls away from me and I swear the snickers increase.

Then I feel it.

His stare. Usually it's a glare. But this time it feels different, pleasant almost. I didn't feel any anger behind it, just the warmth of his cerulean orbs on my five foot two form. I don't meet his eyes but it feels like he's begging.

_Don't do it._

Then I did it.

I really do wish good-looks were reserved for good people. Oliver Queen is  _not_ a good person, and therefore he does  _not_ deserve to have that hair, that skin, that jawline, those eyes... He looks like he'd be on the cover of a magazine on tortured men.

I love it.

He stares at me, unsmiling and disinterested for a few seconds. Then his eyes narrow once before they flicker to the history hallway. He looks at me again, then the hallway.

Um...

Does he want me to...?

He gives me his signature glare and I feel normal again. Glares I can handle. Seemingly exasperated, he stomps toward the hallway, giving me a pointed glance.

Oh!

I shut my locker quickly and follow after him. Conspicuously, of course. I spot the Hyenas, and flinch at their laughter. I glare at them, specifically Merlyn, who's clutching his stomach. They laugh harder.

Whatever.

I shouldn't be spending my lunch period in an empty hallway with Oliver Queen. And look at him. He's not even speaking to me-

"You said no?"

I stare at him blankly. His voice is so much deeper than in eighth grade. Hm...

"To tutoring me," he says quickly, annoyed. "You said no."

"Wow, word travels fast," I say back just as fast. "But don't worry, there are plenty of other tutors who can help you."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't be coy. You know you're the smartest person in this school. I don't want another tutor. I want..." he trails off, eyes flickering between me and the linoleum floor.

"You can't always get what you want. I mean, what makes you think that I want to spend hours a day tutoring a guy who probably stomps on puppy graves."

He stares at me disapprovingly. "That's a little extreme, don't you think? I have a dog."

"Oh, so you do have a heart."

"That's not fair," he refutes. "I don't judge you when you spend your time doing science experience with that jackass, Allen."

"He is the only one who knows how to use a boiling flask correctly. It's not a preference, and he is not a jackass!"

He ignores me. "I also don't judge you for having a copy of the periodic table on the back of your binder."

"I use it for my notes..." I say, sheepishly. I found it when I was looking up an Instructable on how to get the pure acetone out of Walmart brand nail polish remover.

"...Point is, I need your help."

"What's in it for me?" I ask quickly. He raises and eyebrow and tilts his head to the side.

"I mean, like, what do I get from you? Not from you  _you_ as a person, but maybe you-something you could give me, like a material item, you know?"

He didn't know.

"I just feel very cheated. Helping you doesn't really help me. And to be perfectly honest, I don't see a point in helping someone who hates me and hasn't even spoken a word to me since the eighth grade. Actually, ever! Since all you did was throw my presidency pin down."

"You're still upset about that?"

"Thank you, but no thank you, mister. I've got better things to do then tutor Oliver Queen."

I turn away from him, feeling fairly good about myself. Yeah, my lipstick was fresh, my skirt was flowy. I just cleaned my glasses, so there  _better_ not be any dirt on them. And I called him out. Got the last word.

Then he said my name. It was so boyish and so unclear and so beautiful that I think I stopped breathing. I could literally feel my next breath caught in my throat, waiting to hear him utter another syllable in that voice.

"Felicity..."

Actually, I don't even know if he said my name. It was more like a whisper, but not even that. I could only hear the ending of it, and it was heartbreaking enough for me to want to combust. His voice was softer, weaker. Defeated. "I won't graduate," he tells me. "If you don't help me, I won't graduate."

I turn around to face him and he raises a hand up to stop me. "I'm not saying that to guilt-trip you. I...I want you to think about it. Please." He stares at me and drops his eyes to the ground. But for a second, I swear I saw something more than indifference.

As he walks away from me, he decides to twist the knife a little bit more.

"By the way, I never hated you."

* * *

The next day, after some much-needed rest and my mother's tofu, I feel rejuvenated and strong. I picked up another shade of lipstick: Berry Beautiful. I drank a cup of coffee and picked up Laurel from school because Sara was still AWOL. Laurel also ran out of lollipops so my car didn't smell like cherries and it left her mostly quiet.

I was riding high.

I had a little bounce in my step.

I strutted through the hallways, on my way to Chemistry a little bit earlier than usual. I spotted Oliver, sans Hyenas, and coughed loudly. He looked up, confused, and met my eyes.

I nodded once and smiled.

He blinked.

_Come on, Queen._

I nodded again and lifted my Chemistry book. Still nothing.

I pointed to the classroom he came out of and then at me.

Of course, Ray Palmer had to be the one to notice me. I wonder if I'd ever lose the grudge I held for him. I think it's impossible, though, because he just does little things, you know? Like his shirt he's wearing right now? His haircut? He looks like he's in the third grade about to take his yearbook picture. "What are you doing?"

"None of your business," I hiss at him. He shrugs and walks away. Hate that kid.

Oliver is still staring at me stupidly.

I roll my eyes and scowl. "I'll tutor you!" I practically yell at him. His mouth opens to an adorable "o" and he nods in appreciation. After staring at me for a beat, he lifts his book in a goodbye.

We'd have to get better with the nonverbal communication thing.


	2. 2

"I have to say, this could be a lot more enjoyable under different circumstances. Under which circumstances are we here, by the way?"

It's much easier to ramble when you're uncomfortable. Or too comfortable, like I am right now. Who ever thought that I'd be crammed in a closet with Oliver Queen? And as far as closet sizes go, this one's pretty small. Not that I'd know. I don't typically get dragged into closets in the middle of the school day. Or at all.

He sighs and I feel his breath on my ear and shiver. I really hope he doesn't notice that.

"Did you really  _have to say_ that?" He says, trying to inch away from me. Judging by his matching anxiousness, he didn't know the closet was this small, which meant he didn't take many trips to this closet, which made me a very happy girl. I shrug and inhale his scent, rustic and smoky. I frown.

"You know, you really shouldn't do that."

He leans back so he can see my face. Well, kind of. "Do what?"

"Smoke," I say, not thinking that I could be overstepping some boundaries. "Nicotine has a lot of unwanted side effects as well as offering up a plethora of respiratory and cardiovascular issues in the future. Did you know-"

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks easily, bored. I freeze and begin to pick with the end of my skirt.

"Do I want...? I mean, I don't  _need_ you to stop. Like for me. I don't want, like, it's not up to me. I was just suggesting..."

"Breathe, Felicity," he says, and I'd feel very embarrassed if it weren't for me hearing the humor in his tone. Is he smiling? I wish I could see.

I take a deep breath. "I think you should stop."

"Okay," he says simply. For a minute, we don't say anything. It's a very comfortable silence and I find myself not wanting to leave. In all actuality, Oliver complemented me extremely well. I talked enough for the both of us, and I found myself grateful for him not needing to be talking all the time. In our short amount of time talking to each other, approximately three and a half days, we fell into an easy rhythm. Where his sentences stopped, or didn't, mine began.

"Where are your hyenas?"

A strange noise comes from his throat that makes me smile. "What?"

"Your friends," I correct, blushing slightly, "where are they?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, around. Why did you call them that?"

I feel embarrassed. "I don't know. They're always laughing at me." I feel a little ashamed at the admission. "Whenever I come down the hallway or whatever, they just laugh. I don't think I've seen them do much of anything else."

If it weren't for the feel of his breath against my cheek I'd think he was dead. Finally, in his infamous monotonous tone, he whispers.

"They aren't laughing at you."

Before I can correct him on his clearly clouded judgement, he clears his throat.

"I just want to know where we're going to do this." My mind conjures up thousands of innuendo before settling on the fact that he's probably talking about the tutoring.

"Um, your house?"

"No." He says, darkly. "What about yours?"

I nod my head. "After school works for me on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. On Tuesdays I have Debate and on Thursdays I intern at the Liquid Crystal Lab at the local university."

"Of course you do."

"I'm going to ignore that. My mom is usually out until five or six, depending on the day. Did you want to start soon?" I internally cringe at the hopeful tone of my voice.

He sighs. "Yeah. As soon as possible. You drive your friend around, yeah? That Lance girl?"

He knew I had a friend? He knew there was a Lance girl?

"Laurel. And Sara. Although, she's kind of been missing lately..." I say, before realizing he probably doesn't care at all. I continue to play with the end of my skirt, twirling the material around my hand.

"Right, well, Wednesday, I'll drive you to school. That way we can drive to Central City afterwards and pick up my books and everything I need for the make-up labs."

I chuckle a bit bitterly. "Are you sure about that? I mean, you can barely be seen with me. We're in a freaking closet."

I wasn't dying for publicity, I swear. This wasn't my cry for attention at all. It was more like, why go through all of this trouble of hiding? Because hiding insinuates that there is something to hide. As far as I know, we weren't hiding anything. Unless,  _he_ was hiding something.

"If you can't see how much that's for your benefit then maybe you aren't as smart as they say."

"I'm smart enough to know that nothing good comes from sneaking around." Almost immediately as the words leave my mouth, the bell rings for the next class period. I feel him being smirky even though I don't see the physical smirk.

As the sound of footsteps fills the closet, light begins to filter through the crack of the door. Oliver opens it completely and steps outside. He reaches for my hand and his is so big and warm and I like holding it more than I probably should. He walks with me to the center of the hallway and his body towers over mine, almost protectively. We stand together, and I notice the incredible height difference as I tilt my head up to look at him, ignoring the eyes on us.

"Is this good for you then?" He asks, not letting go of my hand. I smile and nod, a little smug.

"Good, I'll see you later then." His hand slips out of mine and I want to squeal.

_I_ want to squeal.

Christ.

* * *

"Where have you been?" I ask her, hugging her tightly. "I haven't seen you all week, I think that's the longest I've ever gone without my dose of you."

Sara sweeps her hair off of her shoulder and shrugs. "You know, I've been around. How about you, have you been okay?"

I smile at her concern and reach for her arm. "Yeah, yeah. It just sucks, because even though we haven't had a class together this semester, I thought we'd still be able to see each other. Wishful thinking, huh?"

She grins and slides her arm through mine. "Well, my car is malfunctioning as we speak. My dad's gonna try to fix it, but that means you can drive around both Lance sisters this week," she says with a wink.

"Well, aren't I lucky?" I grin and walk with her aimlessly to my next class. Sara was always late, and she could charm the hell out of just about anyone so she very rarely faced any consequences. "Except for Wednesday. Oliver is driving me."

One of Sara's charms was easily her looks. Laurel's beauty was a bit more in-your-face, but Sara had that gentle prettiness that was subtle, but never subtle enough to be overlooked. Her blonde hair fell in waves around a pale face slathered in orange- brown freckles. Her usual attire was jeans, and you didn't often see her in anything else.

Trust me, I've tried.

Her face falls. "Oliver who?"

"Queen. I know, can you believe it? I'm tutoring him, and he's actually a pretty alright guy. This whole time I thought he hated me, but it turns out it's just his personality," I joke casually. I feel a little cheeky knowing a part of Oliver that no one else does. Kind of like I have the insider scoop.

She grimaces, "I heard about you two in the hallway, I guess I just didn't want to believe it."

I frown at her. "You don't seem exactly thrilled. Which is strange, considering you always pick on me for not branching out more socially."

"Can you blame me?" She says harshly. "I mean, I stay away for a couple of days and I come back to you all over one of the three stooges?"

I pull my arm away from her and narrow my eyes at her. "I'm a smart girl, Sara."

She nods condescendingly.

"Street smarts, Felicity. You don't exactly have those. You know science stuff, and that's okay, but the fact that you're even  _speaking_ to Queen tells me you need some flashcards on things outside of a textbook."

I pause for a moment, taking the full blow of her insult. "Why are you being a bitch to me right now? Did I do something to offend you? Are you on the rag?"

Her eyes flash quickly and she shakes her head. "I just worry about you, Felicity. That's all."

"You don't have to because I can take care of myself, okay? I appreciate the concern, but lay off. It's not your job."

She nods and holds her arm out to me. I take it again, easily, because it's really all I know how to do. Sara and I usually don't fight, but when we do, it doesn't last long. I know how valuable our friendship is and I've never ended it over the petty things we fought about.

But our little arguments was just one of the several reasons that I found myself closer with Laurel than Sara.

When we were younger, it was the opposite. I was the first person that Sara came out to. It wasn't a dramatic ordeal in the slightest. We were watching some Spanish soap opera while my mom was out and she told me through a fistful of popcorn that she was into ladies. I didn't think much of it and neither did her family, fortunately, but there was still something to be said about the closeness we shared-that she would tell me something that personal before anyone else.

Somewhere along the way, we lost touch with each other. In truth, Sara became Sara and I became myself. The differences just grew to be more noticeable between us. Ninety percent of the time, I was bending over backwards to make her happy and she was always being an overly critical big sister type. I found that the stress that came with being Sara's go-to was eliminated with Laurel. Yes, she ate too much sugar and was humiliatingly crass, but she was also the one person I could go to for anything because she'd understand.

She also wouldn't judge like a certain blonde haired twin of hers.

"Has anything else been going on? Besides that, I mean," she asks, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger.

"Not really. Life's been kinda boring. I've got college stuff to do so there's that," the sentence comes out choppy and forced. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and like I'm speaking to an old family member at a family reunion; they know everything about you but you don't remember them at all.

I'm visibly relieved when she pulls her arm from me and leaves me to my Calculus class.

I walk inside and head to my seat beside Helena. Helena and I got along very well. We were assigned to each other at the beginning of the year for Chemistry and our personalities meshed. She just sort of let me do my thing. She designs clothes and she's got a huge thing for cosmetics. She's actually really good, but to be honest, she scares me a little. Her eyes were suspect.

It was kind of custom that we sat together in all of our classes now, because truthfully Helena didn't like many people. I was some kind of exception.

Usually, when I approach her, she nods and resumes to whatever she's doing

Today, however, she crosses her legs and turns toward me, looking at me expectantly. When I don't answer her, she pops a piece of gum in her mouth and chews obnoxiously.

"What?" I finally ask her, unpacking my notebook and binder. She smiles and drums her nails across the lab table.

"You," she says in her husky voice, "Were spotted talking to Oliver Queen today in the hallway."

Before I can get a word in, she holds up her hand.

"I don't care, but I'm your lab partner and people are going to expect details. Skim over the romantic stuff," she blows a small bubble and leans forward. "How big is he?"

Confused, I focus on pulling out my pens. "Oliver?"

"Were you in a closet with someone else, too?"

Flustered, I drop one of them to the table. "No!"

"Okay then. So, how big is he?"

I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head. So this was high school gossip, huh? I mean, you think they'd go for the juicy stuff. Clearly, Oliver was a big man. Especially in comparison to me. I tell her as much. Her scary indigo eyes bulge out at me.

"He's big, but I mean, that's obvious. I guess I see him as being bigger because I'm pretty small. He took up half the closet space on his own," I tell her with a giggle. She looks back at me, scandalized, and a little flustered.

"It must've hurt then, because he was so big?" She says it gently, like she's concerned for me.

I smile softly and shrug. "It didn't hurt." We shared a closet for christ's sake, he didn't pummel me to the ground. "It was a little tight and uncomfortable though."

She laughs loudly, drawing the attention of our other classmates. " Well, I bet he loved that."

She doesn't speak to me the rest of the period but she's texting at rapid speed and looking at me every time she does. Whatever she's texting about, it seems to make her laugh a lot which keeps her in high spirits and not irritable. Thank God for small miracles, right?

By the end of the period Mr. Calhoun has finished his notes and hands us our work for tomorrow. I'm more focused on our lab we're doing tomorrow for Chem and read through it on my way out of the classroom, gaining excitement as I see each of the chemicals we'll be using. Berty promised we'd be using crystals, which I am a huge fan of. I cannot wait to get my hands on some of these...

* * *

I slam into a warm, seemingly brick wall.

"Oh..." I say, startled. Oliver stares down at me distastefully. "Hi?"

He motions for me to continue on my path, and I do.

"So it wasn't enough for me to talk to you with a bunch of these fuckers hangin' around, you just had to tell Bertinelli a bunch of nonsense, too."

I look at him, alarmed. "Nonsense? No, I'm strictly no nonsense."

"Although, it's a great compliment. Especially coming from you."

I stare at him angrily. "What did I do?"

He leans down to read my expression like he's searching for something. Whatever he finds makes him chuckle. "You told Bertinelli that I had a big cock. Like I said, not the worst thing you could've done."

I immediately blush and pull away from him. Cock is a very dirty word, okay? It makes me flustered. It's not like penis, which is very clinical and direct. Or even dick, which is a little bit middle school and vague. It's what they say in porn, you know? It's for sex only. It's not something you'd say in casual conversation! Apparently Mr. Queen did not get the memo. "I did not! She asked me if..." I rehash our conversation in my head and am instantly filled with dread. "Okay, I did. But don't worry, I can fix this."

"That's okay, I think you've done enough damage."

I narrow my eyes at his pretty little face. "Look, mister, I'm sorry. Don't be a grouch."

He lets out another little chuckle and crinkles his nose at me. Oh, he's a nose crinkler. "I'm just teasin' you."

Oh. Well it was hard to tell considering your expression has not changed since you started talking to me, Queen.

"I never know when you're being serious or not," I say with a shrug.

He leans against the lockers outside my class. The mass of students bend around us, never getting too close, but they watch us intently. I pretend not to notice, but Oliver sees my awkward posture and glares at one of the boys staring me down.

"This wouldn't be happening if we were in a closet right now," he says, a frown etched on his face.

I giggle loudly and shake my head. He doesn't share my amusement.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "See? I can never tell!"

* * *

When I come home, something is burning.

I drop my keys on our little wooden coffee table that wobbles before, thankfully, stabilizing upright. My bag is tossed on the couch and I adjust my glasses in the fog of the smoke coming from the kitchen.

"Mom?"

I hear a squeal and a quick curse before the oven door slams shut. "Baby? Don't come in here!"

I roll my eyes and step closer toward the kitchen. "Just leave, okay? Save yourself and go get help."

I giggle-cough and sigh. "Get your dramatic buns away from the oven." She rushes away and begins coughing loudly, dramatically, as the fumes had not escalated to the point of needing that type of reaction. I pace toward the oven and turn it off before turning on the overhead fan. I yank open the oven door and pull on an oven mitt.

I stare blankly at what looks to be a rock before pulling it out and tossing it on top of the stove. I grab a few towels and open up the back door, airing out the house before we made the smoke detector go off. That would be hell.

I stare at the culprit and shake my head.

"Were you trying to cook?" I turn to the charcoal, smoking away on the stove. She stares at me innocently and shrugs.

"It was a potato."

After it's cooled down enough, I toss it out into our backyard.

When our house is smoke-free and I've given my mom a lesson on fire safety, we curl up together on our couch watching some re-runs of an old sitcom. Instead of a baked potato, my mother's scarfing down a bowl of cereal, something way more her speed.

My mom can really only make two things: tofu and sandwiches. She was a total wannabe hippie growing up and so she perfected the art of tofu-making. Sandwiches, she says, came from her years in college.

"This cereal," she says with a groan, "Is so good. I know it's just flakes, but it's like there's so much more..."

"Sugar," I tell her with a smile, "That's the other ingredient."

She hums. "How was your day?"

I sigh. "Very eventful, actually. Though, recently, most of my days have been a lot more eventful." Hmm. I wonder why.

"And why's that? No one's giving you a hard time, are they?"

I fold my arms across my chest and scowl. "No, mom."

She sets her cereal down on our wobbly coffee table. "Baby, if anyone ever tries to bully you..."

She's got it in her head that I'm this gigantic loser. And yes, that may be possibly true. Slightly. But totally not.

"I'm not being bullied mom, I was bullied, like, once. In kindergarten. You don't have to worry about any of that stuff."

"I know, but it's just that you're so smart and people can be so jealous. Remember when you were in middle school and some boy threw down one of those cute pins I made you?"

I snort unattractively into my palm. "Felicity, that's not funny. In fact, many people would call that a trauma."

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "I love you."

"Hmm," she says picking up her cereal. "I might love you, too. But hey, whatever this change is, I like it. You act so old all the time. It's good seeing you all blushy and emotional. Reminds me that you're still a kid. Well, my kid."

I grin. "Always."


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up this morning feeling very nervous. I'm so nervous, in fact, that I've cut myself shaving three times already. Can I even wear a skirt today? I've got so much blood on my right leg that I look like I've got multiple stab wounds.

I did decide on the skirt, however, because my legs were easily my best feature. I wore my pleated black one and paired it with some heeled Mary Janes and a white blouse that totally gave me "curves in all the right places" and then some. I forgoed "Berry Beautiful" and layered on some "Classic Cutie," which so happened to be my favorite red lipstick of all time. I thought about putting my hair down, but then what if Oliver thought I was putting in effort? I can't make him think that I'm thinking about this too hard.

I mean, I'm not completely dense. I was aware that I am with Oliver for tutoring purposes and tutoring purposes only. But I can't lie, there is something undeniably thrilling about the idea of spending time alone with him. He's such a mystery, and in the short time that I've known him, I can kind of call him an acquaintance. We are totally acquainted.

I rush downstairs and grab my bag off the couch and stare down at my mom, who's sleepily laying there in her pajamas.

"Are there bagels?"

She rolls over and sighs. "I don't know."

I want to stomp my foot. He'd be here in any minute, and I can't eat the bagel while I was in his car. One of us has to make conversation, and it would most definitely not be him. I can't exactly fill the air when I've got a mouthful of cream cheese.

"I'm hungry," I say, trying to get her attention.

"Yeah, well...think I ate the last bagel," my mom whispers guiltily into the couch cushion.

Five minutes and an apple later, I hear his car pull up into our small driveway. I grab my coffee travel mug off the kitchen table and give my mom a kiss, to which she just groans softly. I'm out the door and pacing toward his car before he can even cut it off, which is kind of embarrassing but still.

It's not until I'm standing outside the passenger seat that I notice we aren't alone.

"Oh, God."

Floyd snickers into his palm. Oliver reaches over to push him toward the door. "Get in the back, Lawton. Don't be such a rude motherfucker." I cringe at his language and shuffle in my heels. Floyd doesn't stop his snickering but he does climb into the backseat next to Tommy, who's giggling like a little boy.

I slide grumpily into the passenger seat of his car, which is very old and I'm assuming classic. It's steel gray with dark leather interior that feels good against my bare thighs.

Oliver gives me sheepish look. "Don't worry, they won't be here after school."

Tommy leans over and claps Oliver on the back. "Your girlfriend doesn't like us?"

Oliver shrugs him off and starts the car, turning to some rock station I never listened to.

This blows.

Despite my self-admitted disappointment, it's a fairly seamless car ride until we're right outside the school and traffic to park is terrifying. I _told_ Oliver to leave earlier like I always do, but he insisted that he always leaves at this time and he never had any issues. I wanted to remind him that he's always late for first period anyway, but I didn't want him to think that I was keeping any sort of tabs on him. I'm not, but if I told him that he may think that I was. After the whole Cock Ordeal, I don't exactly trust myself with words.

Guess who was right? Me, per usual. Now I'm gonna be late.

Oliver slams on his brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of us and my coffee comes whirling out of my mug and onto my white blouse.

I growl under my breath and dab at the brown stain, tossing a glare in his direction until he removes his jacket and tosses it to me. It's heavy and I'll smell like an ashtray but it was my only option, at least until I got into the building.

"This doesn't exactly go with my outfit, but nice attempt," I snark, rolling up the sleeves.

I pull it on and it's so warm that I feel bad for ever complaining, even though it's huge on me. Tommy snickers in the back seat and I glare at him through the rearview mirror.

_Stupid Hyenas. Stupid Oliver._

"We are going to be late for school." I don't add that this will be my first tardy ever to keep from sounding even more like an idiot.

"No, you aren't," Oliver says, pulling to the side of the traffic. "Lawton, get out and walk her."

Floyd groans and grabs his bag. "Why am I on pussy duty?" I feel blood rush to my face and I look down. Through the corner of my eye I see Oliver send him a glare through the mirror that makes the looks he used to give me look like doe eyes.

"Watch it," he warns. Floyd smiles happily and licks his lips.

"I'm only kidding. Come on, doll."

What a tool. Oliver may be a nice guy, but his friends most definitely are not. Not only do they laugh at me, but Floyd's life work seems to be embarrassing the hell out of me. Our walk across campus would be fine if he didn't speak, but that's obviously impossible. He laughs, loudly, the entire time. More and more people stare at me, and then when they see me hanging from Oliver's jacket they stare at me even harder. And every time I blush, he laughs until I can't stand it anymore.

"Do you have a problem?" I snap as we walk through the front doors. He snickers and my blood pressure rises.

"Nah. You're just funny."

I pace quickly to my first period history class and he keeps up with me the entire time. "You've got short legs but you sure move fast."

"That's because I want to be far, far away from you."

"Aww," he mutters, "Don't be like that. We're practically family now."

We run into a dolled up Ray Palmer who runs his eyes over my body. "You look nice today, Felicity."

Jackhammer Palmer.

Ray and I, no scratch that. I don't like our names being put together like that. I'd rather tell the story in third person, it hurts less.

So there's a girl. She's pretty, she's got great taste in movies and music, nice hair,  _really_ smart...right.

Then there's this guy. Sort of basic, extremely average, and lackluster in all of the areas that matter most. But then Laurel-ahem- _the girl's friend_ , gave her alcohol-which is horrible because under the influence of alcohol, the girl is completely whacked. So she ends up doing something she regrets with said boy. And in the process, the girl loses her ability. You know, her ability to-

I'm brought from my thoughts by Floyd, who, for the first time ever, is not laughing. Or even smiling. He tosses his arm around me and pushes me into the crevice of his arm tightly.

Ray raises his eyebrows at him and Floyd glares. "You've got somewhere better to be, yeah?" He says smoothly, tense.

Ray nods quickly and slides past us. I want to laugh, but then realize that I'm under the arm of one of my enemies. I pull it off and he turns to look at me. "Don't tell me you've got a thing for that stiff."

I scrunch up my nose in distaste. "I'm not gonna lie, I've got a thing for stiffs usually, but not that one."

His shoulders begin to shake almost violently and he moves his head side to side slowly. My eyes flicker to him in annoyance. "What?"

"You've got a thing for stiffs, huh?"

My face flushes and I bite down on my lower lip. "Not...penises," I whisper the word softly, which only serves to make him laugh harder.

"I mean, stiff guys. Like, in the context that you were using it, asshole."

He smirks and I shake my head angrily. "You're going to be late for first period."

"Doll, I don't even know what my first period class is."

* * *

"You don't talk much, do you?" I ask him when we're far enough from school that I don't think he'll turn around and take me back. We were on our way to pick up books that should have been picked up at the beginning of the semester, not that I haven't told him this several times. I had a lot of the material for our experiments at home and Mr. Berty had a few things in his classroom. Oliver still had to buy some of the materials that we used because we only used them once, but he promised me, with a funny look, that he'd let me keep all of the extra materials.

He shrugs and turns in on himself.

I don't speak for awhile and he takes that as his cue. "I don't...have much to say."

"You don't smile very often either."

"I don't really have a lot to smile about."

That shuts me up pretty quickly and I twiddle on my phone for a few moments, hoping to let him diffuse. Maybe I should have started with a lighter topic? Like movies! Everyone likes movies.

He surprises me when he opens his mouth to initiate conversation this time. "You're really nosy. Since we're stating the obvious and all that."

"Nosy? I prefer curious."

"Guess you have to be, huh?" He says, sticking a toothpick between his lips. He seems almost shy somehow, and I love it so much. "I notice that...you're all into science and all that shit."

The curse sounds forced because his words are so soft. I smile gently and shake my head. "Yeah, science and all that shit."

"So what," he says, moving the stick around his mouth. "You're gonna be a Chemistry teacher? Teach bad kids like me experiments and all that?"

I shake my head firmly. "No way, I hate kids. I also hate teaching, by the way. I want to work in chemical forensics."

He chuckles. I narrow my eyes at him. "What's so funny?"

"I guess, you. Being around all that negative stuff. Dead bodies. Doesn't really seem like your kind of thing."

"I guess you don't know my kind of thing," I say quickly, a little peeved that he judged me so harshly. He nods quietly and leans further back into his seat.

"I can see it, I think. You trying to solve crimes, I mean. It'd still be kind of funny, though. You'd be falling all over yourself and trying to distract them with your cute smile."

Have you ever seen those movies in like the late 80s where something great happens, and because the writers of the movie can't script words that will adequately describe the greatness of the moment, they simply tell the actor/actress to stare, dazed, into the camera lens?

Insert that scene here.

A thousand times here.

Because Oliver Queen called my smile cute. I even check.

"Did you just call my smile cute?"

He did a shrug, noddy thing.

I have been blessed by the Gods today. Truly.

And it's not like I  _like_ him or anything. But it still feels good to get my ego properly stroked, you know? Because he's attractive, very much so. And I'm okay with saying that because I know that he thinks I'm attractive on some level, so we're evenly matched.

After all of these days of being hit on by the Ray Palmers and Mr. Bertys of the world, I feel properly valued. Like, if I were to objectify myself, which I know I probably shouldn't, I'd be like the beautiful, perfectly cooked steak that was priced at $1.50 my entire existence. I'm finally tagged properly. I'm $32.99!

I stare at Oliver and I notice that my silence has unnerved him a little. In fact, it almost looks like he's blushing.

"Is that...okay?"

I do a shrug, noddy thing.

Shopping is easy and we fall together comfortably. I let him pick out everything to test his knowledge and he does so quietly. I don't pry, but I do notice the amount of money he has balled up in his wallet.

I never thought he was broke, in fact it was common knowledge that the Queen family had their pretty large chunk of change; however, the nature of Oliver himself didn't mesh well with who everyone would presume him to be.

He drove a classic car and his clothes looked off-brand and old. He hung around Tommy and Floyd, who I heard made most of their cash by selling drugs for this guy in the Glades.

I could tell by the way that he picked through the bills that he was uncomfortable, and it was almost as if he were physically repulsed by it with the way he kept his hand from getting too comfortable.

God, I was aching to say something. But I didn't.

And really, all thoughts about money flew out the window when Oliver pulled in front of my house and tried to get out the car.

"Wait!" I yelp, pulling on his very firm bicep. He definitely worked out; he probably put some of that money towards a gym membership.

He stares at me, alarmed and a tad bit frightened. "I need to go in first. Just to make sure that everything's, you know, clean and that."

I was so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up repeatedly. I was bringing Oliver into my humble abode. Chances are he was going to stand where I stood as a child, sit on the very same couch that I binge watched Gilmore Girls with, rest his feet on the coffee table that I loved so much, and breathe the air I breathe every day.

And what if he needs to use the bathroom?

He may see my extensive cosmetics collection and high tail it out of here. Or maybe he'll see my gross-looking yet highly beneficial organic face mask.

I speed clean as I mull over my thoughts and he waits in his car, pulling magazines off my precious coffee table and shoving wrappers and things in the trash. My mom and I weren't messy but we never had a reason to clean. I now realize my mistake.

When my house is decent - because it will never be anything more - I call him inside, pleased to see him looking through his book while he was waiting. He carries everything inside and I motioned him toward the kitchen.

"Water? Coffee? Lemonade? Iced Tea? Coke?" I ramble off, looking inside our refrigerator. "Uh oh. Or are you a Pepsi guy?"

He chuckles. "I'm a Pepsi guy, but whatever you're having is fine."

I pull two glasses from the overhead cabinet and begin to pour tea into them until they're full.

"I like your house," he says. "It's fun," he continues, gesturing to the colorful afghan my mother had pinned to the wall. I shrug, a bit embarrassed, and put a glass in front of him.

It wasn't like I was ashamed of my home, not at all. It's just, my home was such a good indicator of who I am and who my mom is, you know? And him being here, sitting at my kitchen table that my mother bought from a psychic at the county fair, startles me.

"And quiet," he concludes when I don't respond. I assume he's talking about the house and not me.

"Your house isn't?"

His eyes turn dark for a moment, but they flash back to their normal hue quickly. "Not really."

I thought he'd leave it to that, but he doesn't. "I have a younger sister, Thea." I nod like this is new information, when I had already Twitter stalked her yesterday. I'll just have to pretend like I know they don't share the same eyes.

"She's a handful. Not so much a bad kid, just...a lot. There's always something going on at my house."

To diffuse the moment, I bring up my mother. "You should see this place when my mom's home. It's like a house party every night, I swear. Without the cheap beer, of course."

"Of course."

There's an awkward pause before he picks up one of the books and reads the title. "The Exploration of Organic Chemistry," he says. He looks up at me expectantly.

I shake my head. "We only covered a few sections of organic Chem in the first semester." He stare blankly at me. "You don't remember?"

He brings a hand up to the back of his neck and rubs. "Is that the symbols and stuff?"

I giggle. "Kind of. Each chemical is given a symbol. When we describe chemical compounds, like, for instance, octane, we draw diagrams instead of their names. So this week, we'll focus on you learning the rules of organic chem and then creating them. And that's basically it. Well, that's the part we're learning at school. Basics. I dropped in at an Organic Chemistry lecture at Starling U and it gets much more interesting. Some of the students are actually doing projects on the electron affinity of atoms. I personally find analyzing the steric hindrance to be far more stimulating, but to each their own..."

He doesn't stop looking at me, which keeps me flustered and babbling. I mean, I'm not dense. I know when I'm talking too much. But usually, someone snaps me out of it. Oliver just stares at me.

"...I think you'll find this to be much more challenging than the other stuff, which is why I want you to get it out of the way. Also, this was the section you did the worst on. Well, not technically the worst, because you didn't do it at all. Why aren't you stopping me? Please stop me."

He leans forward so his elbows are laying on the table. "Stop what?"

"Me. Talking. Stop me."

The corner of his lip twitched upward and I internally dare him to show me a smile. He doesn't. Instead, he lifts an eyebrow at me.

"You're the tutor, right?"

I bite down on my lip. "Well, yeah, but still. That stuff...what I was saying wasn't important."

He narrows his eyes at me intensely. " I highly doubt that." Before I can interject, he holds his hand up to stop me. "If there ever comes a time that I want you to stop talking, Felicity, I'll let you know."

Oh boy.

It's the second time he's ever said my name and it nearly brought me to my knees. My hoohah was doing a tap dance down there while singing a little choir song to a fast rhythm had nothing on my heart beat. This was bad territory.

I was mid-crushing on Oliver Queen. His effect on my lady bits tossed aside, and I'd still happily carry his children. Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but I'd still kiss him a lot. And maybe let him do me against a tree or something.

And that's really how I know. He's so not charming and so not very friendly but he's also very funny and gets me on an indescribable level; so much so that he actually understands me when I ramble to him. For most people, even Laurel, I have to repeat myself or dumb myself down a bit. But if Oliver doesn't have any idea what I'm saying, he's a damn good liar. And I don't doubt him at all because he's always looking at me when I babble. And for once, I don't feel awkward or wrong for talking too fast because I realize that maybe other people are to blame for just not listening. He actually listens.

I don't know anything about him for this to be a crush, but I feel the stirrings and they sting.

At least I'm self-aware.

"You there?" He says, bringing me out of my small revelation.

"Yeah," I say weakly. "Let's go over notes! I made some copies of mine."

He opens his mouth to speak but I jump over him. "I think we should acknowledge that organic chemistry really surrounds materials with carbon atoms. That will really help you when we start working on structures."

I push my notebook in front of him. "Go ahead and read the first paragraph. It might be helpful to take some notes."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh," I say, my voice cracking a bit, "it's a killer."


	4. Chapter 4

I was actively trying to push any romantic thoughts about Oliver away for both of our sakes, but that didn't mean they didn't appear every once in awhile.

The hardest part was that I was so undeniably attracted to him physically. I'd catch myself staring or just day dreaming about his eyes, his kissable lips, his hair, what his smile would look like if I ever got the pleasure of seeing it, his deep voice...

"Fuck it," he says, stopping me from getting too deep into my thoughts. He cuts off the fire underneath the beaker and stares at it longingly before dropping his head in his hands.

"It's actually not that hard," I say, pushing the darkened beaker away from Oliver. It was his second failed attempt and he was already feeling particularly grumpy today.

Earlier he snapped at Tommy in the middle of the hallway, which led to Tommy grumbling something about him back in response. By the time I made it over there - to tell Oliver a funny story that's happened today - Tommy was stomping away and Oliver was in full stress mode, gripping the bridge of his nose with his hand.

He didn't talk to me about it and I didn't expect him to. Thankfully, he kept his sour tone reserved for Floyd and Tommy and kept his brewing hostility away from me. I don't know how I'd be able to deal with an angry Oliver.

Even still, he was extremely broody and it was affecting his work ethic; well, if the two charred beakers had anything to say about it.

"I think you should take a different approach," I offer. "You just have to purify the water. You can do that in tons of different ways." His hands curl around the edge of the table in annoyance. His fingers were so long and they looked so agile. With that length and dexterity, there's a laundry list of things he could do to me. "Do you want to try fingering?"

His eyes widen.

"Filtering," I say quickly, knowing that I'm probably the shade of a tomato right now. "I meant filtering, we use filters. Of course. I have filters."

He stares blankly at me for a moment and then nods before pulling another beaker in front of him. He pours another glassful of lake water into the beaker and scowls at it.

"Okay, did the water do anything to you?"

He opens his mouth once and thinks better of it. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's okay," I rush out, reaching for the packet of filters. "You don't have to. Just know that you can. Talk to me, I mean. I know it just seems like I'm the one that talks but I'm a pretty decent listener, too."

He nods slowly. "Okay."

Ever since I'd discovered that I'd fallen to the clutches of high school romance, I'd become closer to him mentally. There was thought in everything that I did and everything that I said to him. I worried, constantly, about his perception of me. With that came the issue of me caring about him and his wellbeing. If he was feeling sad, I felt that sadness wholly.

I'm a nutjob.

He eventually does get it. Kind of. He works diligently, quietly and when he finishes he cleans out his materials like a dutiful student. The water isn't completely clean and I would definitely not drink it, but I know he understands the process and what's supposed to happen. He begins to fill out his lab report in rapid speed and I shrink inside myself, saddened by his haste and confused.

He fills out the report in his sloppy writing and hands it to me to check over. I do, but I'm not sure if everything is correct because my mind is racing and I'm cursing myself for ever mentioning his bad mood to him at all.

When he's completely done, he pushes the pages into his bookbag and waves two fingers in the air in goodbye, before assuring me he'd see me Wednesday.

For the first time since we started, I feel like just a tutor.

* * *

He doesn't see me on Wednesday. He texts me Tuesday night and cancels, without ever giving me a reason why. I don't read too much into it, but my heart breaks completely on that Tuesday night and I still feel it on Thursday.

He doesn't talk to me in the hallways, because he barely even looks at me. I'm too intimidated to ask him anything because I don't want to be clingy. I don't want to assume anything about our relationship or lack thereof, but it hurts so badly I want to scream.

I throw myself into my class work and spend more time studying and less time thinking about him. Laurel notices.

"Where's your boy toy?"

I close my locker and smile. "What boy toy?"

She narrows her eyes at me and then frowns. "Did he do something to you?"

"No," I say quickly. "No. I don't want to talk about it." I flinch at the sentence that was used against me three days ago.

"Okay," she concedes. "I'll get it out of you eventually. I've got a doctor appointment today, will you be okay at lunch? I know Sara's been super weird lately and..."

Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. "I'll just eat in the library. I've got to study anyway, so."

She frowns. "Why don't you just eat with...nevermind. Okay. I'm sorry," she says again. And I know she is, because she has the same protective streak as her sister and she has that worrying look in her eyes.

"It's okay," I say softly, "I don't mind."

And I don't. I find a spot in the back of the library and I am perfectly content eating a ham sandwich while going over some Calculus problems. I don't feel like a loser at all.

Maybe only slightly.

As I'm getting to the end of one problem, I hear a "psst."

I look around and can't help the way that hope bubbles up in my stomach. I find the source of the noise and then frown.

"Oh. You."

"Oh. Me."

"What are you doing here?" I say snarkily. "How do you even know where the library is?"

"Ouch, doll. Save your anger for Queen, not me."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want, Floyd?"

He pushes back a strand of his hair and drops the book he was holding. He walks lazily toward the empty seat across from me and plops down. "What are we eating today?"

I don't take the bait. "What do you want?"

"Can't I come see a friend of mine?"

I roll my eyes. "We aren't friends."

"Ouch," he grimaces and leans back in his chair. "I just think you should calm down." He drops his tone to a whisper. "This is his way of doing things, you know? He lashes out. He doesn't wanna lash out at you."

"There's no excuse," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "And I don't need one. I'm his tutor, that's it."

"So why are you being all mopey then?" I open my mouth to say something back, but he stops me. "Look, I'm not gonna get into the juice of it because it's not my business. Last thing I'm gonna do is talk about my best friend's shit to his girlfriend - that's just not how you do things. Thing is, this isn't Tommy, this is Oliver. He's the most dramatic guy I know. You know this. I know this. He'll come around."

"I don't need him to come around. Even if - and a big if - I saw Oliver as anything other than classmate, I would never be comfortable being with a guy who can't communicate with me."

The truthful words sting as they leave my mouth because it's the first time I look at it for what it is. He's emotionally stunted. He is content with being closed off from everyone, including me. I can't accept that.

I need someone who can be honest with me. I need someone that I can share my life with who will share it back in return. That's not even a qualification for a relationship as it is for a simple friendship.

I need someone who won't pull away like I'm a leper once I say something he doesn't want to hear.

My sadness burns into anger. I stand from my table and slam my Calculus book shut. Floyd looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Where is he?" He reads my expression and his face falls.

"In his car, but you really need to -"

I walk away from him, more like stomp, and clench my jaw. I hope I look somewhat scary. Sometimes, my mom teases that I don't look scary when I try, I just look silly. But I don't think I've ever been this mad before.

I mean, here I am, sad and gloomy, because this absolute knucklehead can't seem to speak words with meaning. I've spent 3 whole days mourning my friendship with him. That is so unlike me I cannot even begin to tell you.

I see his car and I see him in it. I think there's a cigarette dangling from his mouth but as I move closer I notice it's just a toothpick that he moves from side to side. He looks up at me through the window in surprise before he rolls it down.

"Hey."

Excuse me? "Hey?" I ask, my voice wavering. "Hey! How dare you?"

He turns away from me and I pull on his car door handle. "No. Hey. Let's talk. Let's be adults."

He opens his mouth and I cut him off. "Actually, no. I'm going to talk, you're going to listen, which should be really easy for you because you've never done anything else." He flinches and I feed off of it. "You think that you can treat me like that? Where do you get off? What impression have I given you that I can be used up and then tossed aside like last years Manolos, huh? Because I'm a damn good person - a great friend - and I don't deserve to be treated like that. Ever."

"I know."

"And the audacity of you," I continue. "To ignore me at school. Do you have any idea what it's like to just be dropped without an explanation? And worse, to not have an explanation for anyone else? Berty wanted to know how progress was going. All of my friends wanted to know why I wasn't talking to you. I never had an answer."

"I know."

"Please stop agreeing with me! This is an argument. God, you're ruining everything."

He stays quiet.

Big surprise.

I see him shuffle in his seat before he steps out of the car and aims his eyes at me. No way, Mister.

I drop my gaze to his shoes but I feel his penetrating stare all over me. "I don't want to argue."

"Well can you explain?" I say weakly. "If you don't want to be friends, I understand." Not really, but I'd take it.

He sighs, like I'm hurting him. "No. I want to be your friend." I open my mouth and he reaches out to grab my hand which shuts me up quickly. That must've been his plan of action because he quickly begins speaking again.

"Every time around this year, things get really tough for me," he says. When I look up to meet his eyes, he shuts them tightly. "And when you asked me about it, I found that I wanted to tell you. I  _want_ to talk to you, Felicity."

My weakness. My name.

_Stay strong. Remember that you passed on Chinese food yesterday over this guy._

He looks uncomfortable. "It's just that it's hard... to do that. And then on the other hand, because I don't talk about the things, I end up yelling. Or doing something stupid. I don't want to do something stupid to you. With you."

I scowl. "I understand that. I do." I pull on his hand to get him to look at me. "Remember how you said you would tell me when I should stop talking?" He nods slowly. "Well, that applies here, too. If you don't want to talk about something, just tell me to stop. You can't go bezerk on me, that's not how friendships work."

"I'm sorry."

I sigh. This was not part of the plan. I wasn't expecting an apology. I really wanted to yell. "Yeah? Well sorry doesn't cut it. You were dismissive and mean and you ignored me."

"I know. And that was hard for me to do."

"This isn't about you," I say, narrowing my eyes. "It was your decision. The outcomes effect on you is expected. I didn't ask for this."

He drops his head. "I don't know how to fix this."

I let out a gust of air and shake my head. "Just show up to our session on Friday. It's a start."

"Of course."

"And come sit with me at lunch. Laurel's gone and I'm lonely."

"Of course," he says, humor lacing his tone. He doesn't look back at his abandoned car as he walks with me toward the building.

It wasn't enough but it was something.

* * *

When next Wednesday pulls around, I feel like a princess. Oliver has pampered me.

That's a lie. He's pampered me as much as one could if their name is Oliver Queen.

He picked me up from school without the Hyenas and he even brought me breakfast. I scarfed it down in the passenger seat of his car and was surprised at how good it tasted. Apparently, he can cook.

He walks me to most of my classes, which he used to do anyway, but now it feels much more purposeful.

He sometimes holds my books! Okay, well, I asked him to because I had something on my shoe and I had nowhere else to put them. But he still carried them the rest of the way.

I can't lie, the little hole in my chest was being slowly filled by his adorable little acts of kindness. Sometimes I'd forget that it was only about a week ago that he'd stomped all over my heart like dumb boys do.

Alas, I am me. I hold grudges. I kept my appreciation silent and focused on making him feel bad. Not just for more pampering, but because he really did hurt me and I wanted him to feel even a pinch of the pain that I felt.

Hopefully he does.

We're in the back corner of the library and I'm helping him study for his Chemistry test. He's so dead-set on failing that he's blinded to everything else.

"You know this," I say, pointing to one of the questions on the study guide. He shrinks into himself and sighs.

"I don't remember."

"Look it up in the back of the book."

He flips through the pages to the glossary and then pauses. I raise an eyebrow at him and he shuts the book completely.

"We aren't finished here," I tell him, glancing at the clock.

"I'm distracted," he admits. I blink once before he speaks again. "I want to talk."

"About what?"

"..."

"Well, you're off to a fantastic start."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head before folding his arms across his chest. "You're still mad. Maybe if I tell you, you'll understand."

"Why do you need me to understand, Oliver?"

"Just do."

I sober my expression and wait. "Do you remember when I first moved here?"

I shake my head. "Not really. You didn't like me, remember?"

"That couldn't be further from the truth." My eyes widen. "Before we moved here, things were really different. My mom was actually there, you know? Not physically, because physically she's home all the time. She sits in the same spot with a glass of the finest wine in our cabinet and she just stares. Sometimes I come home and she's passed out. Other times, she's rambling to herself. I don't know."

My stomach fills with dread. "You don't need to say anything else."

"My sister," he continues. "She talks to me. She doesn't talk to our parents but she talks to me. She's so smart, Felicity. She's like  _you_ smart. But she grew up too fast, you know? She's just a kid and when we moved here she went her own way."

His eyes darken momentarily and he breathes heavily through his nose. "My dad was the only one who never changed. He's indifferent to everything. He doesn't care about anything. Never has. I'm a lot like him."

"No you're not," I say with a confidence I never knew I had. He nods like he appreciates the words but doesn't believe them enough to say anything.

His eyes roam the entirety of the room for a few seconds. "My mom found out she was pregnant when I was six years old. I was so fucking happy. Especially when they said it was a boy."

He crinkles his nose and drops his gaze. "You know, they weren't going to name him Roy. It was just one of the names they had picked out, but I was so happy that I told all my friends and classmates that my mom was having a kid named Roy and they made cards for him with his name on it so my mom had no choice, really."

The chuckle that leaves his throat is dark and shakes his whole body. "When he was born? It got worse. I took him everywhere with me. I'd even have friends over and we'd play video games and I'd run to his nursery and put him in his stroller and then I'd roll him into the room beside me. It's like, at seven years old, I didn't want to miss a second of his life."

I felt the story dwindling into sadness and I crossed my arms across my torso so that I was holding myself. I wanted to hug him, I just didn't think he'd let me.

"Then he turned three and I was nine. We were at the park, because my friends were there and my little brother had to come with me. Always. And I'm sitting on the swing set and my brother's on the slide and I don't pay him any mind, especially not when I see these two guys arguing.

They're not throwing punches and they aren't fighting about like, a chick or anything. It was something more. And then there's gunshots, and I'm so fucking scared. And my friends are running, and I finally think of my little brother. I think about little Roy. And I run over to him on the slide to get him so we can go home but I can't see him. And then I peek over the side of the slide and all there is is blood, Felicity. There's just so much blood."

I move from my chair and jump into his arms, squeezing him as tightly as I can. His breath feels heavy against the crease of my neck and it grows more and more distorted as I hold him. I feel a wetness against my neck that makes me hold him tighter until he holds me back.

I have no words to say. They fall short, and all I can offer him is my body and hope it's enough. My heart pounds erratically for my feelings for this boy. This dumb boy, this ruined boy, but undoubtedly, my favorite boy.

"Thank you for telling me," I whisper into him, refusing to let go.

"It's always easy when it's you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is as angsty as it gets, i promise. well, i hope.

**Author's Note:**

> i originally had this posted only over on FF.net, but one of my readers suggested that i post it here. let me know what you think!


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